Five powerful poems to commemorate this moment in time, as we look toward the 2017 US Presidential inauguration ceremony.

Whatever your politics, poetry can help. As President John F. Kennedy put it, “If more politicians knew poetry, and more poets knew politics, I am convinced the world would be a little better place in which to live.” That’s likely why JFK invited the poet Robert Frost to read his poem “The Gift Outright” at the inauguration in 1961. Since then, several presidents have invited poets, including Maya Angelou and Elizabeth Alexander, to take the dais in Washington DC. To commemorate this year’s Inauguration, we asked five poets to write, read and record a piece for the occasion.

“The purpose of this piece is to inspire and sustain those of us committed to authoring hope, equity and justice into our immediate future. My impetus for framing the poem in the future is to remind us that we can claim victory, take ownership of the narrative of democracy and forge a different reality into existence if we can envision it now.” — Jamila Lyiscott

Minutes before the January 20th 2053 inauguration
My grandbabies and I will be tuned into the worldwide news hologram station
Eager contemplation
Headlines scrollin’ by about the history of our nation
My granny grays showin’ them that I survived back in the days
So they pumpin’ me for historical information

Like, “Granny…
Were you there during the divided state of America?
My history teacher says that the social climate was lethal
That the country bled
In a curious shade of red
Under the principle of profit before people
That you were trapped in a bad storyline
Like a cinematic sequel

My history chip says that deepening social silos sustained
Hate, division, and misogyny
That social safety was severed by a stratified economy

That the world around you felt more and more one-sided?
And no one knew what to do when the indivisible was so profoundly divided

My ‘Real D History Hologram’ app says that hyper-racial hatred hacked away at the hope of the people
That there was a time when you had to choose between being different and being equal

It said that they would snatch the breath from the lungs of an innocent Black body on a Tuesday and shrug it off as historical retribution

That healthcare became a game of Russian roulette–style execution

But granny, what happened? This is all so confusin’
This history I’m perusin’
‘Cause today we livin’ in the United States of Inclusion
And I don’t understand at all
I even read some trumped up nonsense about an attempt to build a wall

My ‘Real D History Hologram’ app took me back to the days after the 2016 election
Days filled with protests and misconceptions
Days that led to the deepest unity of the people to take the country in a new direction

How you pushed through such uncertain times is just a mystery
Is this real or, granny, is this trumped up history?”

And I will say
baby
In the year 20-and-17
When the putrid stench of polarized politics tried to render us broken
Tried to block our seat at the table until we broke in
Tried to asphyxiate our choices
Tried to Ursula our voices

We the People
Believing in the possibility of a more perfect union
Stood at the precipice of pandemonium and fought for a palpable peace
We stitched together a quilt of hope out of every fiber of our being
We juxtaposed our journey with a history of healing
We organized for all types of equality
Restructured the economy
Uprooted false ontologies and toxic ideologies

We the people
Loved each other like the broken skin of a god
And by disarming any disease to our true democracy we beat the odds

We the people
Faced our flaws
And became critically conscious about our collective care
We did not back down in the face of bigotry or waver under the fallacies of fear”

Just minutes before the January 20th 2053 inauguration
When the world is tuned into the international news hologram station
My grandbabies will want to know how we overcame
I will tell them
That healing is not the absence of pain
It is the decision to act in the service of your development
Rather than your defeat

“This poem is a response to tragedies I experienced at home and abroad in 2016 — from the attempted coup in Istanbul and the bombing of Ataturk airport to demonetization in India, the aftermath of the earthquake in Kathmandu and then finally the Ghost Ship warehouse fire in Oakland. And more. Like many, I’m left with the questions “How did we get here?” and “Where do we go from here?” So this is a poem for anyone who has found themselves running ragged, trying to put the pieces back together or trying to keep them from falling apart in the first place. I often worry that so many of us put our work ahead of our health, and every year it becomes clearer that the government is a poor place to turn to for help, especially if you’re not in good health. I’m hoping that our big take-away from 2016, and particularly the recent election, is that all we’ve got is each other. A revolution needs healthy soldiers. We can’t take care of business if we’re not taking care of ourselves. And there’s a lot of business for us, the people, to take care of in the coming years.” — Ben Burke

“What inspired my poem was having watched my own country, South Africa, and how it chose to deal with xenophobia, homophobia and transphobia. I wanted to speak from my perspective as a trans immigrant and how I see America, the good and the bad. I wanted a poem that was as intense yet challenged people to fight for what they believe in and to take part in protecting people like me and other loved ones. I wanted to protect the America I believed in and still believe in.” — Lee Mokobe

I have seen a burning country before
The kind that just crumbles
And asks of its citizens to call the ruin victory
Where immigrants watched their families become cinder
The ash making dark clouds of the sky
And the people called it night and not death
And the immigrants wondered why they had enlisted into such a quiet war
The kind that did not announce itself but
Erased everything in its wake
To make room for “greatness”
(See: patriotism, see: xenophobia, see: go back to where you came from)
I have seen a country
Break itself apart to make
Faggots of queer bones
And swore they saw God in the mirage of flames
They called it divine faith
Elected themselves deputy jesus’s
And scorched all that which did not look like them
(See: trannies, See: fags, See: I respect gays just not in front of the children)
I know of a country
That cremates the laws in order to uphold
The stale tradition of exclusion and bigotry
And calls that progress America,
You are not yet burning
But there is plenty of smoke
And people arguing whether it is fair to say this smoke kills
Or debating whether those who are already choking are being dramatic or truthful
And the media laughs about the matchstick of a leader
Who sparked the flames
And tells the people to give the fire a chance
Say that it will not be an act of arson
But an act of washing this land anew
Call it a baptismal worthy of erasing
Everything this country has learned to hold most dear
I cannot witness this
And believe that this earth
Does not remember hospitality
And how Native Americans
Had looked at the faces of visitors
Before and chosen to call them kin
To bathe them, fed them
And let them call this home
And in light of that genesis I have found a family here
That lets me call my body mine
And my name glorious
That taught me philadelphia summers
Punctuated by the aroma of halal trucks
And african aunties braiding black girl hair at the speed of light
And a rainbow of melanated children
Drenched in the joy of fire hydrant showers
All this to say
We the people, by boat, plane, barbed wire, social security, visa
Belong here.
It is our home.
We the people, will continue to fight injustice
No matter what it decides to call itself this time
We the people will be meeting this blaze of hatred
With force and not love
We will use our voices as fire extinguishers
Use physical intervention as water that calms the inferno of violence
And our commitment to inclusion as the sand dunes that engulfed
The embers of trumpery
We the people, will remind
America of her true nature.
A home that greets all of its visitors
With a love that sticks
Long after we are gone

“This poem, written quite a while ago, arrived like a gift to me when I learned the horticultural truth about how peonies come to bloom. What a metaphor! The poem seems to come back at me again and again: humble, disarmingly simple, and useful in reminding us that bringing anything to life demands patience, collaboration and an individual, steely resolve willed by those who were never, ever expected — sometimes, even by themselves — to succeed. For me, in these dark, political days shadowing our republic, it is a reminder and prediction of the work we have to do, and also of our capacity to do it.” — Robin Morgan

What appears to bethis frozen explosion of petalsabristle with extremist beautylike an entire bouquet on a single stemor a full chorus creamy-robed ripplingto its feet for the sanctus —is after all a flower,perishable, with a peculiarhistory. Each peonyblossoms only afterthe waxy casing thick aroundits tight green bud is eaten literallyaway by certain small herbivorous antswho swarm round the stubborn rindand nibble gently for weeks to releasethe implosion called a flower. Ifthe tiny coral-colored ants have beendestroyed, the bloom cannot unfist itselfno matter how carefully forced to umbrageby the finest hothouse gardeners.

Unrecognized, how recognizable.

Each of us nibbling discreetlyto release the flower,usually not even knowingthe purpose, only the hunger;

each mostly unaware of any others,sometimes surprised by a neighbor,sometimes (so rarely) astonishedby a glimpse into one cornerat how many of us there are;

enough to cling at least, swarm back,remain, whenever we’re shakenoff or drenched awayby the well-meaning gardener, ignorantas we are of our mission, of our beingequal in and to the task.

Unequal to the task: a wordlike “revolution,” to describewhat our drudge-cheerful midwiferywill bring to bear—with us not hereto see it, satiated, long sincerinsed away, the job complete.

Why then do I feel this tremble,more like a contraction’s aftermathrelease, relax, reliefthan like an earthquake; morelike a rustling in the belly,or the resonance a song might makeen route from brain to larynx as if now, here, unleaving itself of all old and unnecessary outer layers

butterfly from chrysalis snake from cast skin crustacean from shell baby from placenta

something alive beforeonly in Anywoman’s dreamingsbegins to stretch, arch, unfoldeach vein on each transparency opening proud,unique, unduplicate,each petal stiff with tenderness,each gauzy wing a different shading fleckedivory silver tangerine moon cinnamon amber flamehosannas of lucidity and love in a wild riot,a confusion of boisterous orderall fragrance, laughter, tousled celebration —only a fading streak like bloodat the center, to remind us we were there once

but are still here, who dare, tenacious, to nibble toward such blossoming of this green stubborn bud some call a world.

Reprinted with permission from the author. Peony was also published in Death Benefits (Copper Canyon Press) and in Upstairs in the Garden: Selected and New Poems (W.W. Norton). All Rights Reserved.

About the authors

Lee Mokobe hails from Cape Town, South Africa. He is the founder and creative director of Vocal Revolutionaries, an arts and leadership youth development organization. A 2015 TED Fellow and Adobe Creative Catalyst Awardee, he is a Brave New Voices International Slam Poetry Champion.

Robin Morgan is a poet, author and activist. She has published more than 20 books, including the "Sisterhood Is Powerful" anthologies. Recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Prize in Poetry and former editor-in-chief of Ms. magazine, she co-founded (with Simone de Beauvoir) The Sisterhood Is Global Institute and co-founded (with Jane Fonda and Gloria Steinem) The Women's Media Center. She hosts Women's Media Center Live with Robin Morgan, a nationally syndicated radio program.

Ben Burke (b. 1974) is an Oakland-based, multidisciplinary performance artist, director, poet, fabricator and story consultant, helping individuals and organizations discover and develop thematic personalized stories and performances for unusual productions in unusual places at home and abroad. He has been the artist-in-residence at SFMOMA, the California Academy of Sciences, Recology’s AIR program at the San Francisco dump and the Dream Community in Taipei, Taiwan. He has given poetic lecture performances at the DeYoung Museum and Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, cofounded both the Stars & Garters Theatre Company and Apocalypse Puppet Theater, is a TED Fellow and occasionally teaches art and woodworking to kids at the San Francisco Day School and the Randall Museum.

Jamila Lyiscott is a postdoctoral fellow at the Institute for Urban and Minority Education (IUME) of Teachers College, Columbia University where her work focuses on the intersections of race, education, and social justice. She is also a spoken word artist, community organizer and consultant, as well as the founder and co-director of the Cyphers For Justice (CFJ) youth, research, and advocacy program.